The Sacrifice
by Ziggy Sternenstaub
Summary: In a very different prequel world, Anakin Skywalker's father is the Grand Master of the Jedi Order that has ruled unchallenged for thousands of years-until now. It's time to pay the piper.


Caveat lector: This story was probably written in 1997, when even TPM was still just a series of rumours. I had no knowledge of the prequel characters at this time, and this story is a speculative look at a very different Anakin Skywalker's past.

That said, enjoy, and I hope that you let me know what you think!

* * *

**The Sacrifice**

by Ziggy Sternenstaub

The Grand Master of the Jedi Knighthood was a middle-aged, powerfully built man with blue eyes so piercing that they had been likened more than once to laser beams. He was stern, given to strictness and order and strove to impart those same principles into his many subordinates, which included more than one million Jedi Apprentices, Knights, and Masters. For all of that, however, he was fair, and fiercely protective of the Knighthood in a time when the Republic had become disillusioned with the merits of the Jedi.

In public he was the Master, but in private he was Asrone Skywalker, and he deeply loved his wife and young son. The Skywalkers had nominally ruled the Jedi for as long as anyone could remember. Born and raised to the Order as he had been, and as his father and his grandfather and his grandfather's grandfather had been, Asrone could recite every nuance of the Jedi Code, and backwards as well if need be.

Though the selection of each Grand Master was technically a democratic process, the Skywalkers had long retained the favour of the Council which elected each Master, and for one not of the family to be chosen would be almost heretical, Skywalkers being as close to the royalty as was possible in the Order. The family's residence was situated on the planet Bavanis where the main headquarters of the Jedi Knighthood stood, but they tried to make their home as private as possible: for the sake of their eleven-year-old son, if not for themselves.

Sitting on a large chair that accentuated the regality of his presence, Asrone smiled at his wife, Larissa, who sat beside him. She was dressed in slender robes of ivory velvet which

fell softly about her small and diminutive form; she came barely to the centre of her husband's chest, and she was so quiet that most people never noticed her unless attention was directly called to her presence. Blonde hair fell down her back in hundreds of tiny braids, flowing from a tight part in the centre of her head. Her skin was ivory and accentuated her ethereally pale countenance. The only part of her that seemed solid was her rich brown eyes, eyes filled with the hidden strength that had allowed her to survive and prosper surrounded by politics, plots, and struggle.

Larissa's eyes returned to the other side of the sitting room where her son Anakin lay sprawled on the rug, heedless of the crumpling he was giving his fine tunic and trousers as he read a story on a small personal viewscreen. The boy was tall for his age, hinting at the powerful frame he would one day possess, and his very dark brown hair and brilliant blue eyes were all his father's, though he had his mother's smooth pale skin as well as her long, artistic hands.

The sunlight streaming through the huge multifaceted window fell suddenly into Anakin's eyes. Irritably, the boy shielded them with his left hand and soon seemed to find his arm getting tired. Anakin frowned and looked back at his parents.

"Can I close the drapes, Mother?" he asked plaintively, his boyish voice rich with aristocratic precision.

Larissa considered the sunlight for a moment, smiling knowingly that Anakin had asked the question of her rather than of his father. "You can close them," she finally said, secretly finding the light rather irritating herself.

The boy jumped up, concealing his satisfaction rather more skillfully than could most children of his age. The drapes were soon pulled across the window, Anakin's father frowning all the while.

Standing, Asrone put aside his own viewscreen. Larissa stood up with him, following her husband to the broad doorway some fifteen metres from where their child lay. Asrone shook his head slightly, letting her know that he did not want her to follow him. She smiled gently and turned to Anakin, saying softly, "I'll have the servants prepare even-meal now. Be ready, and make sure to wash your hands. And I don't want your viewscreen laying on the floor. Put it away in your room."

"Of course, Mother," Anakin replied absently, carelessly.

Larissa frowned but made to leave the room anyway, only to be caught by her husband's hand on her arm.

"I love you," he said, looking even more intense than was usual for him, as though he were attempting to impart a vital message. Alarm bells went off in his wife's mind, and though she nodded her calm acceptance, dread secretly filled her heart. It was hardly unexpected, but that the time had come so soon. . . Anakin was not ready; that much was obvious.

"I love you," she said, "Always."

Asrone blinked in apparent surprise at the comprehension, acceptance, and sadness in his wife's voice, and Larissa was surprised that, in the end, even he had underestimated her. Asrone had long made it a point not to do so, but she was grateful for the lapse, for if it had not been so he would have shielded his mind far more strongly.

"You must speak with Anakin," Larissa said firmly.

"I will," her husband replied, letting go of her arm. There was a cold finality to the motion that frightened her, and for a moment she desperately wanted to clamp onto him and never let go, to prevent him from meeting his futile, bitter destiny. Resisting the urge, she stood on her toes and placed a cold, formal kiss on his lips as he bent his head down to meet her. Then she walked out of the room, forcing herself to maintain a stately pace.

Asrone Skywalker's heart may still beat, but Lady Larissa knew that he was walking dead.

* * *

Asrone stared at the spot where his wife had stood and tried to be Jedi calm to his core. He could not afford to feel anything, but he wished that he could avoid the fate rushing up to him so swiftly--if only for one more day, to love and shield his family just a little bit longer. But it was for his family and all the Jedi that he acted now, to preserve their honour and hold back the threat a little longer.

Larissa had known more than he thought, and she had conveyed it to him with a look and a few words. Sometimes he forgot that she was a Jedi as well. A Knight, not a Master, but still one of the Order. She had projected such calm acceptance.

Asrone's son, his very perceptive child, had turned off his view-screen some time ago and now sat cross-legged, gazing up with eyes at least as piercing as the Grand Master's own, demanding an explanation to the emotional drama playing out in the living room.

Asrone sat down on the carpet beside Anakin, further inspiring his son's suspicions. Anakin had never seen his father sit on the floor. The Jedi Master was keenly aware of Anakin's thoughts and chose his words carefully.

"Anakin, there comes a time when we all must put aside our personal desires and act for the greater good, even if that means making great sacrifices. You will know when that time comes." He stopped, finding the words more difficult than he had expected. It had been easier with Larissa, who already knew.

But apparently Anakin too perceived more than Asrone had expected. Coldly, the boy folded his arms, blinked once, and spoke in a voice so flat that his father was briefly terrified. "You're going to die, aren't you? You are going to leave us alone." The boy's lips were a thin white line across his childish face.

"Anakin," Asrone began again, haltingly.

"You are." Any doubt that boy may have had was banished by his father's momentary hesitation.

"Yes," the Grand Master admitted. "I am. This is my duty, Anakin. Duty is very important. Always remember your duties. They are what keep your honour whole and strong. And remember that I love you, and that I do this for you and your mother."

"And the Knighthood," Anakin said, sounding far too rational for a mere eleven-year-old boy.

Rather than answering, Asrone chose to engulf the boy in a hug. The embrace was as fierce as all of his love and protection, and conveyed a single word: _Goodbye._

"Take care of your mother," the Grand Master said.

"I will, Father," the boy said, though his eyes were shuttered and wounded.

"Goodbye, my son," Asrone whispered as he stood up. Anakin stood as well, his stance grim, and Asrone almost flinched at the unconscious contempt in the child's expression.

"May the Force be with you," Anakin said formally: the perfect Jedi farewell. A tiny spark of shameful hope ignited in Asrone at the slight, tearful catch in the boy's voice.

"And with you." Asrone completed the ritual and walked out of his son's life.

* * *

He followed the route that the Jedi Grand Masters had always known. His feet were heavy upon the earth, but he allowed none of the fear that he carried in his heart to deter him from his duty. The pact that had held the Jedi for millennia insisted that he comply, and Asrone was nothing if not a man of honour.

Unbeknownst to the vast majority of the Knights, their enemies, their counterparts, still shared the galaxy with them. Indeed the Jedi shared their very world with the Sith. In the long ago war with the Sith, the two factions had come to a stalemate, battling on without victory for either side. Finally a Sith Knight had proposed a solution to the Jedi Council: let the Jedi send their best and brightest as a willing sacrifice and the Sith would withdraw.

The Council had in fact rejected the solution, but the then-Grand Master had accepted it; gone into the Sith camp and laid himself upon the altar. The Sith had indeed withdrawn from the visible face of the galaxy. In the millennia since only the Council had known how the ancient war ended, and they revealed the knowledge to each successive Grand Master. The knowledge was necessary, for every hundred years the Sith demanded another sacrifice as the price for their silence.

This very day was the centennial of the death of Grand Master Guther. Asrone, though warned by his Council, had been devastated when he had received the summons from the Dark Master.

Sick tension curled in Asrone stomach, physically manifesting itself as a tremour in his hands. 'No wonder Larissa deduced the cause of my anxiety!' he cursed.

* * *

He was very near the ancient underground Sith stronghold. The sunlight disappeared altogether as he entered the deep tunnel under a rolling hill. After more than an hour of descent, he emerged onto a dark stone step, and his eyes widened with awe. A deep red glow emanated from bubbling pits of lava surrounding a vast underground city of pillared, onyx towers, and as the red light hit the buildings it seemed to burn on the stone. In the centre of the city a tall, delicate-looking, twisted spiral rose, a palace that dominated everything around it. It seemed to radiate energy and a spell as compelling as every forbidden pleasure.

"Sir?" a cold but respectful voice inquired from the rear left of the Jedi Master.

Asrone urned to regard a pale-faced, slender man who looked almost human save for his sharp, jagged teeth that gleamed like polished steel. The man could take a being's arm off with those teeth.

"I am here to escort you across the river, sir. You are expected."

The man was polite, and Asrone smiled gratefully, if warily. "Thank you. Lead on."

* * *

The city was empty. No man, woman or child disturbed the fascinating dark beauty of the place, and the silence was broken by nothing but the soft whisper of both men's boots and long cloaks. The quiet soon began to wear on Asrone, and he felt his eyes dart to shadowed corners and away again, searching for enemies as the strange guide lead him towards the towering fortress and the press of the cavern above the Grand Master's head became more urgent. Asrone was not usually claustrophobic, but the thousands of tonnes of stone hovering over him were deeply disturbing.

At length the two men arrived at the delicately wrought gates of the fortress. Twin ceremonial guards stood before them, their faces cowled in deep blood red, their bodies clad in silver armour. They carried long blades of metal which they held most skillfully; sheaths to contain them were belted at their waists. Lightsabre hilts hung seemingly innocently next to them.

"Who comes?" they chanted.

"Lord Kalcon stands before you. He asks permission to lead the Sacrifice of Light into the Tower."

Asrone almost smiled at the ceremonial formality, as impenetrable as that of the Knighthood.

"Does the Sacrifice wish to enter?" the guards asked in unison.

"He does," Asrone replied with reflexive solemnity.

"So be it. Enter, Lord Kalcon. Enter, Grand Master of the Jedi."

The gates swung ponderously open and the guards moved aside, allowing Kalcon and Asrone to ascend the many-tiered staircase to the entrance of the tower. Kalcon knocked three times on the huge portal. On the third knock, it swung majestically outwards. A great hall streamed from the door down the length of the palace. The hall was lined with hundreds of figures all standing statue-still, all robed in black and masked in silver, all radiating the Dark Side of the Force.

"They will not harm you. They act as sentinels and stand watch. It is tradition."

Asrone was outwardly calm, but the sight of the many Sith made him uneasy, reminding him of the hard reality of the situation: he was no tourist in this mighty city, but here to die.

* * *

They arrived at a final set of double doors. They were white and presented a striking contrast to the black stone all around them. Asrone did not doubt that behind these doors he would meet the Master of the Sith. He took a deep breath, letting it out very slowly. Suddenly the doors swung open.

Lord Kalcon gestured the Jedi Master inside a room that was as white and unadorned as the doors, a room that contained only four inhabitants. Three were hooded and masked, their genders and features obscured. The fourth was a proud man dressed in loose black clothing. His bearing was strong, majestic, and made his otherwise small and compact stature seem large.

"Greetings, Grand Master," the Sith Lord called out; his voice was as proud as his body.

"Greetings, Sith Lord," Asrone answered just as gravely.

"These are my witnesses." The Sith Lord gestured to the three cloaked figures. "They are to observe, but they will not interfere. This I swear."

"Of course," Asrone nodded.

"Lord Kalcon is my apprentice. He is also a healer, and will certify you dead when the time comes."

Asrone struggled not to flinch at the blunt finality, and could offer only a jerky nod in response.

"I am the Dark Master of the Sith: Shalant Vel," the Sith said formally. His eyes glinted with anticipation.

"I am Grand Jedi Master Asrone Skywalker."

"Come, Grand Master," Shalant whispered, flinging out one arm to point at the block of white marble that Asrone had avoided studying. Its appearance was cool and inviting, but dark, tortured echoes emanated from it: whispers of every Grand Master who had lain down there to die.

He felt curiously divorced from his body as he followed the Sith Master to the simple altar, a feeling which only increased as he lowered his back onto the chilly surface. The echoes grew stronger, and Asrone could not help writhing with discomfort, flinching back from the memories of such prone and hapless suffering.

The breath came more quickly in his lungs as long, silver chains were securely fastened to his wrists and ankles. He resisted the temptation to struggle, to panic, while alien and terrible syllables were chanted above him and the white room grew dark with hateful satisfaction and bloody anticipation: beauty removing its tempting mask to reveal the monster beneath.

Asrone felt light-headed. A hot flush seemed to envelop his skull, and cold chills shook his limbs. His control trembled and finally shattered as he felt his life force drawn from his chest. A bloody cloud rose above him, and the part of him that was not absorbed with his agony understood that the life fluids were being extracted through his very pores.

He could no longer feel the altar underneath his body. He fell slowly and the world fell with him. He stared at the far-away dome of the ceiling, his eyes dull and glassy when the Sith Master finally stood above his body and saluted him; the victor displaying to the loser well-earned respect after a hard battle.

Asrone moaned in agony, no longer concerned with ceremony, or honour, or anything but pain. He was dying quickly, but not quickly enough.

One of the cloaked Sith witnesses stepped forward, bending over him. Had the Jedi the strength left to frown with puzzlement, he would have.

"Sleep well, my Master," the man whispered. He flipped back his hood, and Asrone's dying stare widened with the betrayal he saw.

The light began to fade, but Asrone was fixed only on the gleaming yellow gaze until it too disappeared: a cat closing cunning eyes in the night.

* * *

Lady Larissa stared coldly at her husband's former apprentice, the man who was trusted friend to her family as well as the Jedi representative in the Galactic Senate. Palpatine's golden eyes flickered around the sitting room, lingering on the sunny view outside of the window before handing the ornate letter in his hand to the woman.

The female Jedi accepted it, reading it quickly. Her already pale face became whiter and she turned away, staring at the window.

Anakin was outside, sitting by the lake. Larissa closed her eyes painfully. Her husband was lost, and with him her own position. She was once more simply a Knight, one of the troops, and her son. . .

"Anakin cannot be Grand Master now. He is far too young. The Council will be forced to choose one who is not a Skywalker. There are many who resent the Skywalkers, and my son's training will be difficult. I wonder that they did it exactly now, when there is no Skywalker to take Asrone's place. Always before it seems they waited."

She was speaking more to herself than to Palpatine, but she turned back to him as another thought occurred to her.

"How do you know of this? Why is that you delivered the message of my husband's death?"

"The sacrifice requires witnesses. I served in this capacity," Palpatine answered sadly.

"I see," Larissa answered, turning wistfully back to watch her son. "The darkness approaches," the Lady Knight said; her voice was half premonition, half dread.

Whispering, Palpatine leaned over Larissa's shoulder: "The darkness is already here."

_fin_


End file.
